


It's A Foreigner Kind Of Day

by nerddowell



Series: Drabbles + ficlets [4]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Ben & Jerrys: the only relationship that matters, Comfort Food, M/M, No Really The Worst, Philippe has shitty music taste, Pining, The Princess Bride References, and Liselotte is so done with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: Or, Philippe realises he's got a crush.ETA 18.06:My wonderful friend Darío has translated this into French which can be readhere.





	It's A Foreigner Kind Of Day

‘You can’t be serious.’

Philippe glowered at Liselotte, spoon jammed in his mouth and cradling his Ben & Jerry’s tub to his bare chest (his fourth pot in as many days). He cranked the stereo higher, staring her dead in the eyes as he did so, and she grimaced, pressing her hands over her ears.

‘Philippe, at least talk to me about this.’

He ignored her, almost smothering a sob as he dug out another enormous spoonful of Cherry Garcia. His hair was in total unkempt disarray and he hadn’t budged from the spot on the sofa in their shared lounge that he had first occupied six days ago. He’d missed so many lectures this week he’d be working for the next month trying to catch up, and she had absolutely no sympathy for him and his immeasurable suffering. He hated her.

‘Philippe, you’re being utterly ridiculous.’

‘No, he’s being ridiculous! With that face and that hair and that gorgeous, smooth, muscular chest…’ His voice trailed off as he lost himself in fantasies about running his fingers through golden curls and riding off into the sunset on horseback, bare chested, to fuck passionately on a rock on the seashore as the waves broke around them. His mouth hanging half-open and eyes glazing over probably clued Liselotte in. Either that or the fact that a melted trickle of ice cream ran down from the corner of his mouth and the spoon dropped into his lap. He shook himself out of it.

‘Back in the world of the living, are we?’ she asked dryly. ‘Please never go to your horny happy place in front of me again.’ She shuddered. ‘And will you _turn that down_?’

She headed over to the stereo and reached out to turn the volume knob down, but he slapped her hand away and dug another spoonful of ice cream out of the tub.

‘It’s a Foreigner kind of day!’ he wailed.

‘It’s a ‘Philippe, you’re being ridiculous and need to get over yourself’ kind of day,’ Liselotte retorted, turning the stereo way down, ‘and if I have to hear _I Wanna Know What Love Is_ one more time whilst I try and finish my Chemistry revision, so help me God, I will strangle you with your own cravat.’ She paused. ‘Who even _wears_ cravats anymore? It’s 2017. You’re such a hipster.’

‘A hipster hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t even know he exists,’ Philippe lamented, flopping dramatically over the arm of the sofa and banging his head on the wall. ‘Ow.’

‘As I’ve said, you’re being ridiculous. Chev knows exactly who you are from the way he was yelling your name last Friday night at a thousand decibels and repeatedly banging your bedstead into my wall.’

Philippe at least had the grace to blush. ‘But what if I’m only a one night stand to him? What if he thought I was ugly when he saw me sober in the morning?’ He pressed skip on the music and felt tears spring to his eyes as Bonnie Tyler’s husky vocals echoed out of the speakers. _Total Eclipse of the Heart_. Liselotte took one look at him and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

‘You _are_ serious. Good grief, I’m going to have to deal with 80s power ballads for the next thousand years. Don’t be silly, you’re gorgeous. Now get a grip.’

‘Don’t mock my pain!’ he protested, outraged.

‘Life is pain, highness,’ she shot back, winking at him. ‘Anyone who says differently is selling something.’

Philippe remained stubbornly unsmiling.

‘Christ, if even quoting _The Princess Bride_ doesn’t cheer you up, nothing will.’ She slumped down on the sofa next to him and dragged his head into her lap, running her fingers through his hair. For not having been washed in nearly a week, it wasn’t terribly greasy, which she supposed was a bonus. It could be worse – he could look like Montcourt on a wet day.

‘I’m not in the mood for Westley and Buttercup and their perfect ‘twoo wuv’,’ Philippe grumbled, shifting on the sofa to lay more comfortably. ‘I’m in mourning for a relationship that will never happen.’

‘Come on then, tell me about him. Vent. Let it all out, if there’s anything left after last week.’

Philippe glowered up at her, and she laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I had to say that. Okay, sympathetic Liselotte is back, I promise.’

Philippe groaned and closed his eyes, his face anguished. ‘Well, he was so charming and handsome, and he promised he’d call on Saturday, and it’s–’ he counted on his fingers – ‘Thursday now and I’ve not had a single phone call. He hasn’t even _texted_.’ He brandished his phone in her face, and she took it to squint at the inbox and see it was indeed devoid of notifications.

‘Well, Bridget Jones taught me that sometimes the woman – or pursued partner,’ she amended quickly at his mildly offended expression, ‘should take the initiative. Why don’t _you_ call _him_?’

‘That makes me look desperate!’

Liselotte raised an eyebrow. ‘And sitting on the couch, miserable, for a full six days after the fact doing nothing but eating Ben & Jerry’s and watching crappy daytime tv doesn’t make you look desperate?’

‘Ben and Jerry are the only men in my life I can rely on,’ Philippe retorted archly. ‘I love them.’

‘If you get an ice cream gut from eating so much of them he’s definitely not going to call you,’ Liselotte said bluntly. ‘From what I unwillingly heard on Friday he was very admiring of how ‘svelte and nymphlike’ you are at the moment. He won’t want a sad sack with a junk food paunch and greasy hair.’

‘You told me I’m gorgeous.’

‘I lied.’

‘You heartless wench,’ he accused, but struggled up to sit and snatched his phone back from her to scroll through his contacts, thumb pausing over Chev’s number. _Rdiculsuosyl hOt club mna_ _❤❤❤_ , _04 84 93 56 21._ He cringed at his own drunk spelling before Liselotte’s hand closed over his, making him press the call button. He scrambled up to stare at her, eyes wide, but she rolled her eyes and picked up the phone.

‘Hello?’

Chev must have picked up, because she smiled, and Philippe immediately started flailing to get the phone back off her. She pushed him off the couch with one leg, pinning him to the floor with her foot and laughing silently at him as he squawked in indignation.

‘Liselotte, give it back!’

‘Oh hush, you sound like a three year old. Yes, is this Chev? My spineless housemate thought you were very cute and took you home last Friday, and was promised a call. He’s since been sat on the couch moping, and I entirely blame you for the amount of times I’ve had to listen to 80s heartbreak ballads in the mean time, so I’d appreciate it if you could at least speak to him for a minute and let him down gently.’ She passed the phone to Philippe, who snatched it desperately and clung to the phone like a lifeline, pressing it tightly against his ear to smother any noise Liselotte could eavesdrop on. It didn’t really matter, she was cackling like a witch on the sofa behind him.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, sweetest. I hear you’ve been pining for me, and who could blame you?’

Even his cockiness was endearing. God, Philippe had it bad. ‘You could’ve at least called.’

‘I’ve been out of town, my love, visiting parents and old family friends and their hideous daughters, et cetera, et cetera. You were never far out of mind, though, darling, I promise you.’

Philippe fought back a sigh at the words. ‘I missed you,’ he said in a small voice, hoping Liselotte wouldn’t hear and laugh even harder at how pathetic he was.

‘Oh, aren’t you just a treasure,’ Chev cooed down the line, an audible smile in his voice. ‘Well then, my love, I shall have to make it up to you. How does dinner tonight sound? I shall pick you up at nine. Dress in something lovely, I want to show you off.’

Philippe’s heart fluttered and he nodded eagerly before remembering Chev couldn’t actually see him (he blushed, and Liselotte stifled an unladylike snort of laughter behind her hand). ‘That – that sounds great.’

‘At nine then, darling. Ta-ta.’

Philippe grabbed the stereo remote and turned the volume right up, beaming as REO Speedwagon and their plinky piano strains flowed through the room, and Liselotte laughed and shook her head. _Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore_.

Well, it was about time, she thought to herself, leaving him to it.


End file.
